


The Man and the Child

by HiddenEye



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27891289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenEye/pseuds/HiddenEye
Summary: The Child finds him first.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin
Comments: 32
Kudos: 401





	The Man and the Child

**Author's Note:**

> The Tragedy took my heart and stomped on it until it disintegrated. So, this had to be written.

The Child finds him first.

The man might say that he is the one who found the Child in his crib, but that is not true. The Child has known that someone is coming for him. He knows that everyone is coming for him. And so, he would expect anyone the moment they step into his field of vision.

It doesn’t matter if the crib acts as a protected tomb around him, the Child knows someone is coming. He hears them, senses their very life beating inside of them. The Child knows he’s going to be taken away, and training has told him to be ready in all things.

When the crib opens, the first thing the Child sees is metal. 

There are two of them; one is taller than the other, cold around the edges despite its weapon humming from its blasts. _Android_ , his mind supplies. 

The other is warm and smoked. He wears his metal like his life depends on it. But underneath all those layers of weapons and armour, there’s surprise there. A sharp thing impaling through the man’s conscience. And the Child blinks at him as much as this man blinks back at him. 

Not that his face can be seen. The Child just thinks this man is surprised as he is from where he’s frozen on the spot.

The man seems to shake himself out of it, immediately demanding answers from the android in a low tone as if he’s afraid of jostling the Child. There’s haggling, maybe there is indignation. The Child is focused on the man, watches how he lifts his blaster and kills the android on the spot.

The Child stares at him. _Huh_ , he thinks. 

He watches the man turn back to him. There’s hesitance in the way he lifts a hand towards the Child’s way, tentative, as if he’s afraid to touch him. _Why would you do that?_ The Child asks curiously, but the man doesn’t hear him. Of course he doesn’t — he’s not one of them. He is something else. He is something great.

 _Huh_ , the Child thinks again, holding onto the man’s finger. _Perhaps you will do._

* * *

_Shiny,_ the Child cooes, seeing the ball on the stick. The man sits on his chair, his back turned to him, flying his ship with his focus on the vastness of space because he doesn’t know what to do with him.

The Child has his sights on the ball, a thing that sits tauntingly beside the man. He wants it. The Child hasn’t wanted anything for a while, and the familiar feeling comes washing onto him that he pushes himself off the chair. 

The man doesn’t look at him when the Child climbs up the console, eyes only on the ball. Such a shiny thing. Such a pretty thing.

When the Child tugs it off its stick, the man turns to him as if he’s startled, but quickly composes himself when he reaches for the ball.

“That’s not a toy, kid,” he says gruffly, gently prying the ball from his hands.

 _Grogu,_ the Child corrects him offhandedly, watching the man screw back the ball to its place. He looks at the man. The man looks back at him.

It’s a few long seconds before the man jerks his head towards the empty chair. “Go on.”

The Child does as he’s told, because the ball isn’t in his disposable yet and he can’t get to it now when the man has already caught him. He’ll try again. When the man lets his attention focus on something else.

* * *

The man looks at him differently after the Child saves his life.

There’s apprehension coming off him from where the man sits on his chair, his hand on the Child’s back to prevent him from falling back. He’s given the Child the ball when he reaches for it, and he’s happy enough to ignore the man’s stare for a while even if the thickness of his emotions swims around them like goo.

“What was that, kid?” The man asks, and the Child looks up to meet his covered gaze. “What did you do?”

 _You were in danger_ , the Child answers, but the man’s uneasiness rises with the silence that stretches between them. 

The man turns around and puts the Child on his chair, leaving him to play with the ball.

* * *

The man comes back for him.

When the Child wakes up, he sees the Man holding onto him as if he’s refusing to let go. He keeps apologising, the man’s voice a low murmur of regret as they run from the people shooting at them.

The Child looks up and feels how the man tightens his grip onto him before he vaults them to safety. The man is shiny now, and he looks like the ball the Child likes. The Child can’t help but touch his new armour, even as the man jumps onto a speeder as blasters shoot at their way.

The Child sees how they’re behind several boxes, hiding from their killers, and the man is still holding onto him and refuses to let go. The Child sees the urgency in his movements, in how he shoots back, how the air around them smells of sulphur and smoke and everyone is fighting to win. 

The Child thinks he can help him again, he can help the man to escape and those bad people won’t harm them anymore. He tries, lifting his arm to call for the only thing he allows himself to remember, for the Force, but he’s far too tired, far too weak, and closes his eyes when the man huddles his body close to his chest.

He opens his eyes again when there are new noises, more people falling from the sky, blasters shooting the bodies that are aimed for them. The Child tries to peer over the man's arm, and sees others who are like him.

The Child feels relief in the man’s heart, and it penetrates through his new armour as if they are nothing. They’re alright, he must think. They have other people to help them.

But, there’s something else between all of that. Protectiveness, perhaps. Fierce and fiery underneath his sternum, loud in the way the man holds the Child to him as if he has vowed to cause harm with extreme prejudice onto the people who had tried to kill them, to kill the Child.

The Child blinks at him, astounded. Amongst the fear and deep anger that resides within his own self, the Child feels warmth, almost to the point of scalding, for this man. 

He’s saving him. The man thinks the Child is important enough to lay his own life for him.

When the man drives the speeder to his ship, the Child vows to do the same thing.

* * *

_Din Djarin,_ is what they call him. Or the Mandalorian. Or Mando. 

The Other Mandalorian who wields her tools like weapons has called the Child the man’s son.

The Child doesn’t have any problems with this; he’s quite happy to know that someone of their kind wants to connect both of them together. It doesn’t hurt that Din Djarin feels the same way, even if he doesn’t know it just yet.

The Child hopes that Din Djarin will be able to find out what his name is. It’s simple to pronounce, just a word, unlike the mouthful this man’s name is.

 _Grogu,_ the Child tries to put into the man’s mind. _Grogu, Grogu, Grogu._

* * *

The Mandalorian takes care of him.

The Child might say that the Mandalorian loves him, but he doesn’t say it out loud. It’s in his actions, see, because he doesn’t dare leave the Child out of his sight unless he truly trusts the people to be his eyes. The man will have work to do, and he needs someone who he knows won’t kidnap the child to take care of him.

Most of the time, however, it is only Din Djarin, the Mandalorian.

His father.

He would let the Child snuggle to his side when they fall asleep. He would make sure the Child is well-fed, getting all his required nutrients. Not that the Child is picky about his food. He eats anything that’s given to him that the man probably doesn’t worry so much on what’s going into his stomach.

Unless, they’re really delicious looking eggs, and the man is suddenly so adamant in making sure the Child doesn’t eat them all.

“They’re not food,” the man says, picking the Child up so that he doesn’t press his face against the glass container anymore. The Child mourns for the eggs, reaching out for them. “I know you’re hungry, but we can’t just eat people’s spawn, alright? I’ll get some food in you.”

The man gives him a bowl of their rations, and it’s not enough to satisfy the gnawing need for those eggs. The Child looks down at his already empty bowl, before he wistfully sighs at the container of eggs that’s tantalisingly within his reach. 

The man seems to give out amusement from where he sits beside him. “You know you’re not supposed to eat those.”

The Child pleads at him silently.

The man is unperturbed. “Nope. Can’t do that. We don’t want our guest to sue us.”

Then, the man lifts his helmet that it’s just enough for him to take a sip of his broth, and the Child curiously stares at his exposed chin. There are a few times the Child has seen him like this, when the man refuses to take off his helmet even though they’re alone in the ship. It’s odd, because it isn’t as if the Child will use the knowledge of what he looks like against him. The man trusts him too much for the Child to betray him like that.

The Child thinks he simply doesn’t want to let go of his armour, since many have demanded for the beskar that sat on his figure and tried to kill him for it. “Over my rotting body,” the man has told them gravely, and the people who dared try taking it with force have ended up dead by his feet.

This has caused many to question the man’s upbringing of the Child. The Child thinks the killing doesn’t phase him as much, since he’s seen much worse, and if others think it makes them uncomfortable, then it’s their problem. Even the man has brushed off their concerns with a change of a subject.

The man takes care of him, makes sure the Child is safe. That’s all that matters. Because the Child knows the man cares for him a big deal and he knows the man would come back for him soon.

“Be good. Be respectful of others,” the man says sternly, brushing a hand over the top of his head. The Child cooes at him, hands out for his embrace, but the man rubs one of his ears comfortingly. “I’ll come back for you, kid, I promise.”

 _I’ll wait for you,_ the Child tells him. _I’ll be here, for now._

The man rubs his cheek with a gentle thumb for one last time before he straightens up. He faces the couple and gives them a nod. “I appreciate your help. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The couple give him a click of responses before the man turns around and leaves. 

* * *

The first time the man speaks his name, his tongue stumbles on itself like a clumsy large creature with two little feet.

“Grogu?” The man tests his name hesitantly, and the Child lifts his head up in delight.

 _Yes!_ The Child exclaims, the burst of happiness exploding in his chest. _That’s my name! You have spoken my name!_

“Yes,” she replies, and it’s her, the Jedi that the man promises on bringing the Child to. She is wise in the way she smiles knowingly at them, the light perched in the middle of the clearing glowing softly on her face. “His name is Grogu. Only he hasn’t had the chance to tell you that since you met him.”

“That’s,” the man pauses, searching for the words to describe what’s been revealed to him. “That’s a relief, I’m guessing.”

The man is still looking at him, almost curious, and the Child is pleased with this. _He knows my name, now,_ he says to the Jedi Master, and the corner of her lips stretches a bit wider than before.

 _He does._ She tilts her head slightly to the side. _You have been wanting him to say your name._

It’s a statement more than it is a question, and the Child readily agrees. _He takes care of me like his own. His kind has bestowed me the title of ‘son’._

The Jedi Master doesn’t show her surprise, and the smile on her face turns softer. _You enjoy this._

“Grogu?” The man says again, still trying to loosen his speech to say his name, but warmth soars in his body all the same when the Child looks at him again.

Something settles between them. And the Child thinks that yes, he enjoys this very much.

* * *

Din Djarin doesn’t stop.

“Grogu,” he calls, as if he’s playing with the grooves and dips of the word again, wanting to test its weight in his mouth, and the Child looks up from the ball he has been playing with.

Din Djarin doesn’t stop the chuckles that burst past his lips.

The Child feels the same warmth from before, reaching out to him, from this man, with an upturn of his palm. The Child doesn’t hesitate to meet his touch with a gentle prod of his own.

“Grogu,” Din Djarin murmurs softly, and _Yes_ , the Child thinks. 

Din Djarin has delight shaking his body and the Child feels how light his shoulders are. Fondness and joy bubbles out in his laughter that the Child is left staring at him, at this man who has protected him from all things living and dead. 

_Yes,_ the Child relishes on this feeling as Din Djarin brushes a hand over his head. _That’s my name._

_Grogu, Grogu, Grogu._


End file.
